Almanzo and sat on the footstool by the stove, an apple in his hand, a bowl of popcorn by his side, and his mug of cider on the hearth by his feet. He bit the juicy apple, then he ate some popcorn, then he took a drink of cider. He thought about popcorn.

Popcorn is American. Nobody but the Indians ever had popcorn, till after the Pilgrim fathers came to America. On the first Thanksgiving Day, the Indians were invited to dinner, and they came, and they poured out on the table a big bagful of popcorn. The Pilgrim Fathers didn't know what it was. The Pilgrim Mothers didn’t know, either. The Indians had popped it, but it probably wasn't very good. Probably they didn't butter it or salt it, and it would be cold and tough after they had carried it around in a bag of skins.

Almanzo looked at every kernel before he ate it. They were all different shapes. He had eaten thousands of handfuls of popcorn, and never found two kernels alike. Then he thought that if he had some milk, he would have popcorn and milk.

You can fill a glass full to the brim with milk, and fill another glass of the same size brim full of popcorn, and then you can put all the popcorn kernel by kernel into the milk, and the milk will not run over. You cannot do this with bread. Popcorn and milk are the only two things that will go into the same place.

1 Comments:

Anonymous said...

Ok Eve-- this is the most "mudneh" of all your posts-- HOWEVER-- in my previous Scarsdale life I had a Shabbos friend and she would always serve me homemade popcorn with LOTS of oil and salt (YUM!) and I washed it down with icy cold Manischewitz Malaga.Oy-- what a great Shabbos!xxxLisa MayerPS: Great dancing with you yesterday!